Photo Box
by Sabriel41
Summary: Microfic collection, photo twenty-two. - ...So she spun bottles and trained her fists. He fixed his gun and raised his daughter. And in between the sector raids and the sirens, they lived. -
1. Photo Box : Cloud

**Photo Box**

** .**

"..._heard__ your voice through a photograph;  
__I thought it over and brought up the past  
__And once you know, you can never go back…"_

_-_"Otherside" – _Red Hot Chili Peppers_

_ . _

It was past midnight when he rose, moonlight lending silver glints to his hair as he pulled out the box from a drawer and scattered its meager contents on his bed.

Blue eyes softened as he lifted a photograph, and remembered… bright lights, strange companions, and _belonging_. Calloused fingertips traced the memory of chocolate-coloured hair; he'd kept his promise to her. He'd 'made something' of himself, though not at all what he'd expected.

Sparkling green eyes caught his, even now beguiling his thoughts, though her promise was as broken as her body and his soul. He was a hero; with their love, he'd saved the world.

Without them, even the world could not save him.

…_fin_...

* * *

__

_Disclaimer:_ Cloud et al belongs to Square… "Otherside" to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and affiliates.

_Sabriel's__ Scribbles:_ 'Photo Box' is the first of my FF7 drabbles… Due to a combination of writer's block and a particularly ingenious LiveJournal meme, I've a good number on my hands, but instead of posting them separately, they'll all be posted under this 'story.' Different moments, different characters, different 'photographs,' if you will.

In some of the cases, first or last lines (as a condition of the meme) belong to another writer; I will credit when appropriate in the 'disclaimer.'

Thanks for reading, and Starry Nights!


	2. Revival : VincentTifa

**Revival**

.

He'd always been observant; it was his job. Watcher, fighter, thief, murderer. Turk.

And he thought it - like the rest of him - was locked away, until they awakened him from his stagnation. Fighters, they weren't. Assassins they certainly weren't, despite the pipsqueak ninja's claims. But their eyes made them warriors, especially the woman whose eyes matched his; merlot sparks reflecting his shadows, distilling them with each cautious smile, each deliberate inclusion, and transforming them into slivers of light. Life.

He knew his crooked smile could stop her heart; he wasn't sure if it was in shock, or...

Not that it mattered.

It didn't take Turk training to see the swordsman's demeanour was doing more to break her than the efforts of Shinra and his so-called son combined.

He wished, sometimes, when he saw her shattering slowly, that he could steal her darkness in return. But he was Destruction, and he didn't know how. He watched her instead; he knew that skill, at least. He _wanted _to love her… but his heart had stopped years ago.

She deserved love; she _radiated_ it, reviving him slowly. But until he could offer her the same in return, he shied away.

Better fate to be invisible than to burn.

* * *

_ ._

_Disclaimer:_ Again, the Square folks belong to Square.

_Sabriel's Scribbles:_ The first of a set of drabbles done for a challenge on Livejournal; this one is for Jess Angel, who is one of the authors who got me to read Vincent/Tifa, and is a fantastic writer in her own right. The last phrase, as condition of the challenge – "Better fate to be invisible…" is © Jess Angel.


	3. Blind : Rude, Tifa

**Blind**

** .**

"…How _dare_ you?" She was furious; after… everything, he had the _gall_ to enter her dojo. His clothes may have changed, but he was still the same.

"I don't expect forgiveness," he replied, unruffled.

"I want to know one thing, Rude; how can you _live_ with yourself? How can you be so unrepentant, so cruel, so…"

"So…_what, _Tifa?" he asked, roughly pulling off his sunglasses.

She saw his eyes for the first time, then… despite their cloudy, sightless blue, she could see his buried remorse all too clearly.

"…blind?"

Before she could stutter an apology, he was gone.

_ ._

_...fin.._

.

* * *

.

_Disclaimer: _Rude and Tifa belong to Square; I'm betting you knew that. Though there _was_ this younger Rude look-alike on campus the other day…!

_Sabriel's Scribbles: …_cause I figure I'd better post something that Jess hadn't read yet! And though I know I'm going to get in trouble for this one… seriously, folks, if Matt Murdoch (being Daredevil is his night job, provided I got his 'real' name right) can get away with it, Rude can too. Rude's about fifty gazillion times cooler, which helps.

Thanks to everyone who's read and enjoyed the drabbles thus far… your words of support are greatly appreciated. Starry Nights!


	4. Normalcy : Yuffie

**normalcy**

There was a normal day, once. In fact, there had been several. Days before the sky threatened to fall, before she was tearing around the planet with ragtag warriors intent on stopping it.

Days when all she needed was the fastest route from the palace to evade her 'lessons,' plaguing her guardians to teach her the combat Father believed too 'dangerous' instead. They always did; she had her mother's eyes…

And later days... hard-won independence amidst Gongagan forests; the rebellious princess whose jungle became her palace.

So she'd never really been 'normal.' Shrugging, Yuffie shouldered her oversized shuriken and dashed off to catch up to the others.

It didn't matter - normalcy was overrated, anyway.

.

..._fin..._

.

* * *

_ ._

_Disclaimer:_ Yuffie's not mine. Nor is anyone else from Square's "universe."

_Sabriel's Scribbles: _Written for the LJ drabble challenge, this one for Chaosrayne, aka "chaosr." Ergo, "There was a normal day, once" is © Chaos.


	5. Daybreak : RenoYuffie

**daybreak**

** . **

Rude always told him he needed to sort his priorities out. At the moment, Reno wasn't sure if he could _spell_ 'priorities,' much less sort them. Pity. The night before could be kindly described as a blur... and he _knew_ he was forgetting something important.  
  
But as an adorably mussed Wutaian princess snuggled further into his arms, Reno shrugged. It didn't matter; she'd know. She always did, somehow. _Sneaky ninja,_ he whispered.  
  
Wait.  
  
That was it - he was gonna marry that 'sneaky ninja' today. In about twenty minutes, if the date and time on his godforsaken watch was right.  
  
Cursing a blue streak and scanning the room for wherever his pants had disappeared to, he smiled guiltily as Yuffie grumbled herself awake.  
  
"'S not even morning, Reno…"  
  
He couldn't help it. "You. Me. Married. Twenty _minutes_, Princess." At her string of swears, the redhead's expression slipped from guilt to glee.  
  
"Idiot." Now _this_ caught his attention. Sheet wrapped haphazardly around her, Yuffie chuckled. "Your watch's a day fast, Red. You were gonna fix that, remember?"  
  
He didn't, actually, but he resolved, slipping in beside her, to do just that.  
  
Eventually.

* * *

_ ._

_Disclaimer:_ …if you really think I owned 'em, do you think I'd be struggling through 2nd year Uni at the moment?

_Sabriel's Scribbles:_ Another LJ meme-drabble, this one for pseudosex, aka Reno Spiegel. So… "Rude always told him he needed to sort his priorities out." is © Reno Spiegel. Haven't decided if this fits with the "Believe" arc or not, but it's tempting…


	6. Sunshine : Lucrecia

**sunshine**

_"…like other ghosts, she whispers…not for me to join her, but so…she can push me back into the world…"_

- Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces

* * *

Let me go.

I was never a goddess, but you always said you found heaven with me. You… were beautiful and strange, and I was flattered by your awkwardness. I loved you once, though I don't think I ever told you.

No?

It's for the best I didn't; your eyes are worshipful even now, fiery crimson though they've become… you're pale, lover. You need sunshine; you need _life_… not a ghast trapped in a cave engulfed by shadows and tears.

I'm _dead,_ Vincent. I forgive you, I love you, but even you can't keep me here now.

Let me go…

_…finis…_

* * *


	7. Firefly : SheraCid

**firefly**

Shera smiled as she leaned over the rail... the city below looked like a swarm of tiny fireflies, the steel and concrete frames melting into the sky with the lights their only memory. She'd seen the world in complete darkness; and hoped to never again.

He'd returned, ten years younger at heart, spinning her around like she weighed nothing in happy reunion. It could have been the pot of tea she'd been brewing, but to see his eyes flash as they did, she'd have bought all the Mideelian tea plantations in a heartbeat.

He set her down, filled two thermoses, and paused only to hand her the first before grabbing her hand and dashing out the door.

_Ten_ years younger? Maybe twenty, and she chuckled as she asked him just what he was doing.

"Thought that since the goddamn sky isn't falling, I'd take you 'round the world like I promised," he answered, blue eyes cautious.

He'd promised ten years ago, but she squeezed his hand and grinned anyways. "I hear Costa's pretty right now…"

Cid's tone was gruff, but… "That's my girl," he laughed, and they were off.

The lights of Costa del Sol were indeed entrancing, but as the glow from his cigarette caught her eye, she smiled. He was her firefly, and he was home at last.

.o.

_…finis…_

.o.

**_Disclaimer_**: …does _anyone_ on this site own the FF7 folk? I certainly don't.

**_Sabriel's Scribbles_**: Something happier for this festive season; a double-drabble this time… This is a more peaceful take on Cid and Shera's eventual reunion… go read Solain Rhyo's "UnBliss" for the other end of the spectrum. (grins)


	8. Red Ink : TifaReno

**Red Ink**

I shouldn't have been so foolish. Too much, too soon to hope for.

But he was…endearing, almost; Shiva only knows how, his eyes glowing, his hands limited to dusting my shoulders and arms, as befits the gentleman he pretended to be. His loose collar and smooth words reassured my sanity; he'd changed, but there were still flashes of the man I'd once reviled and fought against. The man I thought I had figured out.

Fool; foolish girl… I wanted to be blind, and now I am. So I sit here, as the matchbook with his number scrawled on it – sharp script but not harsh, the ink a bright crimson – burns a hole through my clenched hand.

I don't learn, do I?

Truth settles, uninvited, in the base of my stomach; cold, unyielding certainty. Almost. Perhaps at twenty-three, I should know better.

But I've called… and now, I hope.

At least it's something I'm good at.

_.o._

_…finis…_

_.o._

_Disclaimer: _Reno isn't mine. Nor is Tifa. I bet I could dig up a matchbook, but not that one…

_Sabe's__ Scribbles: _A little double-drabble today; this goes out to WrexSoul, who should have had a ReTi fix ages ago... Consider it an appetizer for the longer fic, which is on its way…

Thanks for reading!


	9. Sunset : Nanaki

**sunset**

_Home_, he thought, settling his head on his paws. The jingle of his hairpin prompted a rueful smile; too many had been missing from his homecoming. Still, he wasn't alone tonight. Whether by stars or statues, his forebears guided him...

There was Mahala, too; she had been his first loss. Shinra hands captured him, his sacrifice for her escape. He'd snarled _run,_ and she did, scaling the steepest trail out. She had never returned to Cosmo, and he hoped the scientists never found her…

The emerging stars his witness, he wished that she lived. And that one day, she too would return home.

_. o ._

…_finis_…

_. o ._

**Disclaimer: **Heh. By now, I think I'm more _theirs_ than they are mine…

**Sabe's**** Scribbles:** A thank-you drabble for _Tincent__…_ my first fiftieth-reviewer. Hope you enjoyed it!


	10. Fine Print : ScarletReeve

**Fine Print**

If you were to ask, he probably couldn't tell you why he still had them.

The irrationally high heels were the only thing of hers he kept; black, with heels that could likely kill a man. He wondered, tracing the spike with a fingertip, if that was why she liked them. Seduction always had a darker side; he missed the girl who hadn't learned that yet.

It was raining the day she forgot them in his office; kicking them off with a familiar, childlike abandon and collapsing into his chair. She always stole _his_ chair, relegating him to the uncomfortable standard-Shinra-issues. He hadn't minded, because her smile was bright and genuine as she did so.

He could still tell the difference then.

She was excited, blurting the news about her promotion – a big one; Assistant Head of Weapons Development – and he'd smiled back, settling their coffee down and pulling a chair beside hers to watch the rain beat against the windows.

He'd promised her brother that he'd protect this girl slouched beside him, but she was dancing beyond his reach even now. Oh, Scarlet could take care of herself. She was a dead aim with the automatic she kept in her clutch, and had more black belts than he could remember the names to. But she was ambitious, and it scared him that he could no longer protect her from her own goals, from the ice slipping into her eyes.

The knock of the President's aide betrayed just how ambitious she'd become. The aide passed him a note which he tossed to her, and though he saw surprise (fearhopedisgust_determination_) flicker across her face, she pulled her feet from over the arm of the chair and sat up straight, nodding brusquely to the man in the doorway.

Once he'd closed the door, he turned to her, his eyes filled with questions he'd never ask. She laughed with false levity, and kissed his cheek, her eyes hooded. He went dead-cold with fear; this was it. If she left alone, now, Scarlet Jamison was never going to return…

But she tugged at his ear, guessing his thoughts and shaking her head. "Fine print…" she whispered, steeling her smile. "Don't waste your worry on me." And she left, barefoot, casting a flirtatious wink over her shoulder as she closed the door behind her.

He saw her the next morning. She was imprisoned once more in stilettos, this time crimson ones that cost more than he knew she could afford. He pretended not to be hurt when she averted her eyes from his in the halls.

He knew, then, that he'd failed.

**...finis**

_Sabe's Scribbles: _Darkish, but when we're dealing with Scarlet, it's hard not to. Written as a request for a good friend and fellow writer, this one's all Cendrillo's.

_Disclaimer:_ As per usual, they're not mine. But I'm starting to think I'd like to adopt Reeve…


	11. I Never Told You : Reno, Tifa

**I Never Told You…**

It stops hurting after a while, y'know?

The faces never leave you; that much is true. But they sorta blend together with time… one big, long nightmare with crying children and the back-alleys of cities that are too big for their own good. And blood. Lots of that. Red as my hair when it leaves them, red as your eyes when we leave them.

The drink helps; thanks for it, love. You've a bitch of a punch but you mix the best drinks on this sorry Planet.

I'm going to miss you.

Oh, no, don't look at me like that. I never go anywhere _just_ to talk, much less to you…Fine, fine. I do. But there is a debt to be paid, this time.

You're fast, sweetheart, but I'm faster, and you fall in time with the glass you are holding. It shatters around you, glinting in the crimson halo seeping from your side. I hold your gaze until your stunned eyes close, and walk away, parting the waves of patrons with a glare.

You'll recover; I didn't hit anything serious. In the meanwhile, consider it a payback for the beating at the 'Plate. And a warning.

I'm a Turk; _this_ is what I do for a living.

I didn't become who I am by accident.

I hope someone tells you how beautiful you are before I have to remind you again.

_. o ._

_…finis…_

_. o ._

_Disclaimer: _Reno, Tifa, and the other facets of Final Fantasy VII written of here belong to SquareEnix. Inspired obliquely by the lyrics of My Chemical Romance's "I Never Told You What I Did For A Living," which I happened across by chance and which does not belong to me, either. Context-wise, consider this an in-game lost story…

_Sabe's Scribbles:_ Writing some characters is a home-coming of sorts; welcome back, Reno. It's exciting and wonderful to be writing for you again. To the reader – sorry I left this collection alone as long as I did, and thank-you for reading.


	12. Bookworms : Barret, Tifa, Marlene

**bookworms**

_**. o .**_

They are reading again.

It's a sight he's grown used to, although he's never sure where she finds the books that she reads so lovingly with his adopted daughter. As they hear him approach, they pause to smile at him before both turn back to the page. His smile is slow, and he wonders, yet again, how these two can make him feel so awake … so alive.

As Marlene hops from the bar to tug at his hand and babble brightly, he allows her to pull him to where Tifa leans against the bar. Tifa's eyes are amused, and he supposes it is only fair – a grown man pulled successfully across a room by a tiny girl doesn't happen every day.

Still, he does not resist the pull of his daughter's hand or his companion's smile. He would do anything for these two. He doesn't know much, anymore, but that much, he knows. He'll even lower his voice to deliver the dragon's lines, and he laughs as Princess-Tifa squeaks a little in her reply, surprised.

He does not notice that his daughter is watching them instead of the book, her eyes wondrous. But he is happily aware that she has snuggled under his arm and that Tifa's weight is leaning warmly against his other shoulder as they share the book.

The thought occurs, then, that they are almost a family.

Barret smiles, and allows himself a precious half-second of _almost_ before he coughs, lowering his voice to read the dragon's next line.

Perhaps someday.

For now, they are his reasons to fight.

He shakes his head wryly at his thoughts, but he can't deny it: they're the best reasons a man can ask for.

_**. o .**_

…**_finis…_**

_**. o .**_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_** …_they're still not mine._

**_Sabe's_** **_Scribbles:_** _I've never tried to write Barret before, so this tests the waters for firefly99's Christmas gift. I really do like writing for him, though, and some making up for lost time seems in order! A huge and heartfelt thank-you to everyone who has left their thoughts so far._


	13. Experimentation : YuffieVincent

**Experimentation**

_. o ._

She kissed him once. She was eighteen and invincible, and they'd just saved the world _again… _it seemed like the thing to do. Maybe she dared because ragged cloaks and golden claws no longer loomed _quite_ as unapproachably as before. He had become intriguing in their time apart, and her curiosity was infamous.

So she'd slung an arm around him once the Highwind had landed and she felt like she could breathe again. Beating his reflexes for once, she swung onto tiptoes and kissed him; barely a brush of lips and a brash wink, reveling in his utterly blank expression before running off. She didn't make it to the end of the street before she spun around, puzzled. "That was… weird..."

He shook his head as he readjusted his cape. "One can only hope you are as cavalier to all the unfortunates you ambush, Miss Kisaragi."

"You're no fun, Vinnie," she replied, her tone turning curious. "Why didn't you stop me, then?"

Vincent had been annoyed by the intrusion, but his tone was careful, even if his words fell on deaf ears. "…Would you have listened?"

Tossing her head, Yuffie laughed. _Of course not._

But maybe she'd start to.

_. o ._

…_finis…_

_. o ._

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_** _Yuffie, Vincent, and company are still not mine. This is probably for the best._

**_Sabe's Scribbles:_** _Just trying to remind myself of a few of the character quirks, while keeping to a double-drabble length– this idea presented itself mid-dinner, and had to be scribbled down. Cheers!_


	14. Initiation : Tifa

**Initiation**

_. o ._

In the end, there is blood. There always is. Quietly, she cleans it from the metal plates on her gloves, applying a gentler hand to the leather; worn crimson is welcoming the fresh dye.

It is the first time she feels nothing, and she can sense the worried looks from her companions; she is smiling absently, and she knows she never smiles after a fight. She wants to scream that she isn't broken, she's been there and it's _nothing like this_ but the words elude her.

The beauty of the company she keeps is that they already know.

_. o ._

…_finis…_

_. o ._

* * *

_Disclaimer: _What's true in the previous chapters remains true through this one. Square's, yo. 


	15. Twilight : ElenaRufusTseng

**Twilight**

_. o ._

I know it's over.

Untangling myself from you and the bedsheets, pulling at my hair with a gorgeous copper comb, I wonder absently which of your mistresses it belonged to. Hopefully not the one you had us kill last week. Not that I knew her, but it's kind of weird to touch dead peoples' things, isn't it?

That is, actually, just why I'm leaving. We're as pale as we ever were. Nothing is healed, nothing is _better_:still the hollow half-doubles that we have been for a week now. Your duster conceals my suit jacket on the floor; I can _feel_ your languid, predatory gaze as I bend to pick it up. You won't try to stop me; you've never been one of my boys, and while I might wear the right suit, my body wasn't the one you were looking for. Maybe that's what I see in you – we both sought the shadows, and look where they left us.

Look where _he_ left us.

...I should go. We both need sleep, and I doubt we'll find it together.

Sleep well, Rufus. President. _Sir._

You're right; it wouldn't do to miss his funeral in the morning.

_. o ._

…_morning beauty fades to midnight skeletons; welcome to the twilight…_

_. o ._

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **These two(three) belong to Squeenix. I'm half-convinced they'd kill me for this if they were mine._

**_Sabe's Scribbles:_ **_Elena and Rufus. Crack? Why, _yes. _Is it believable crack? I'd be interested to hear what you think. That said, hugs and thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far; your feedback has been awesome, and never fails to make me smile. Cheers! _


	16. Reprieve : Reeve

_**Reprieve**_

_**. o .**_

It had been a very long day.

The Mayor was starting to ask questions again; it seemed he was no longer willing to be the easily-manipulated pawn that his name suggested. _Really_, Reeve wondered, _who, in their right mind, _kept _a last name like Domino?_

And _then_ there had been Scarlet, drifting into his office to obtain his most recent reports on Public Relations. She'd be happy once she read them, as the fear and instability spreading across Midgar would be more than enough justification for the new weaponry projects she had presented at the last board meeting. But she hadn't just come for the report, it seemed; her perfume and her arms twined flirtatiously around him as he straightened the paperwork on his desk nervously, afraid of both the woman and the wicked knife she kept in her clutch, a knife he'd seen her use. But there hadn't been the chance for it – she had twirled away with that ridiculous giggle of hers just as he relaxed into her embrace.

Scarlet Jamison was the last thing in the world that he needed, though Reeve Tuesti had to admit that her ranking wasn't so lowly on the list of things he _wanted…_

And now, the blasted elevator was stuck between floors.

Expunging his frustration with a few choice curses, Reeve flipped open the control box on the wall, sighing as he caught sight of a couple of long red hairs tangled into the mess of wires. This mischief was Reno's work, then, which meant that there was no use for the phone. Tseng and Rude were out on a mission, which meant that the redhead would be on the other side of the line.

Even so, Reeve felt a smile stretch the corners of his lips as he sat, taking the small toolbox that he always carried out of his briefcase. Next out of the briefcase was a black and white stuffed cat, who even the kindest of critics would call terribly broken. Setting the box beside him, Reeve took off his coat and settled into the corner of the elevator.

If he was going to be here a while (and he was; when not the target of it, Reeve held Reno's knack for mischief in very high regard) he might as well keep busy.

The President would just have to wait, and if the old man complained – as he probably would – the tiny camera in Cait's body would hold all the evidence Reeve needed to stay out of trouble.

Smiling, Reeve started to work on the mechanical cat, absently thanking Reno for the brief reprieve. For all that he _was_ trapped in an elevator, this was the most peaceful he'd been all day.

_. o ._

…_finis…_

_. o ._

**_Sabe's Scribbles: _**Written as my response to a challenge (feature any Shinra personnel trapped in an elevator,) Reeve is almost too much fun to write. I'm not sure just when this is set; call it some time pre-game, as Elena isn't around yet. (As an aside, I do like reviews. Concrit and commentary - what you liked, what you didn't, what needs work - are always welcomed. )

**_Disclaimer:_** Reeve doesn't belong to me, which is a pity, as he's one of the few I'd keep around. …ahem. That said, he and the rest of the characters are quite firmly in the possession of Square Enix.


	17. Redirection : RenoYuffie

**Redirection**

_. o ._

Tugging on her shuriken holder, Yuffie snatched a stray sock from under the bed. As she found its pair, she stretched, looking over at the lump of blankets with unexpected affection. He was smiling; not smirking, as he had during their collision. She _wasn't_ going to admit he was attractive either way.

_. o ._

The night before, she'd been lost in the rain and the city; distracted, she hadn't seen him approaching. Yuffie felt half-guilty over the shuriken she'd hurled instinctively as she tumbled, but shocked at his retaliation – a weak Cure spell. She'd glowed green and he'd smirked, twirling her shuriken before returning it. Taking two steps, her knee wobbling dangerously, she _squawked_ as he sighed something about incompetent ninjas, passed her his battered yellow umbrella and slung her arm around him. He'd then tried to carry her. She tried to kick him with her good foot.

Somehow they arrived at his apartment; disconcerted, she tried to protest, but she was soaking, tired, lacked hotel reservations, and was certain he could tell.

"I was going home," Reno yawned. "_You_ didn't tell me differently."

Compliant until he steered her towards the bed, Yuffie dug in and swore. "Don't you _even…_"

"Wha – hey! _Ew._ Get some sleep, Kisaragi," he laughed, swiping the quilt before pushing her at the bed.

She growled, but he had nestled into the loveseat already, his feet dangling over its arm. "Wiseass_," _Yuffie griped, scrambling under the remaining blankets and feigning sleep until his snores filled the room.

_. o ._

It had to be midday now – maybe that second Sleep spell she'd cast hadn't been completely necessary, but they'd shut him up _just_ fine... Carefully, she planted a kiss on his cheek before dashing to the window and sliding its pane up. The sun was shining; _she_ had a city to explore.

She made it halfway across the roof when a tap on her shoulder halted her. Reno was leaning on his hands behind her, grinning. "Need a tour guide?"

Shrugging, Yuffie hid her smile.

(finis)

_. o ._

**Sabe's Scribbles:** ...written as a challenge on the LJ community _oldschoolff7_ in response to the 'In the Mood' prompt. Which mood did I leave them with? Explorative.


	18. Weapon of Choice : Jessie, Tifa, Yuffie

**weapon of choice**

_. o ._

She found the eyelash curler at the bottom of her bag. Tifa winced; she had forgotten that she'd snagged the simple silver tool with its italicized 'J' carved into the side. She'd also winced when she'd first seen the tool; when Jessie had pulled the curler out of her rucksack with a grin. "That isn't a makeup tool," Tifa had protested. "That's a torture implement."

Jessie had laughed. "Even us tough girls have to have a secret or two. C'mon. Here. You're a natural knockout, but just _imagine_ - "

With reflexes honed by years of martial arts, Tifa had leaned forward and snatched the curler. "I'll take my chances."

"Suit yourself," Jessie had replied with a grin. "Just remember to give it back sometime, hey."

Turning the tool over in her hands, Tifa's smile was sad. _I never had the chance to, Jess; I'm sorry._ Leaning towards the mirror, intent on seeing if her old friend's recommendation had any merit, a new friend bounded through the open door between their rooms at the Ghost Motel.

As Yuffie skid to a stop, her hands twitched. "Hey - hey - don't poke your eyes out with that, Teefie!"

"Eyelash curler," Tifa corrected dryly. "Perfectly safe." _I think._

"Oh." Yuffie leant against the counter. "_I_ knew that. Duh."

Tifa could tell by the way the younger girl stood that Yuffie wasn't going away without a story, and frankly, she was glad for the company. Nice as it was, and _free_ as it was this time around, the Ghost Motel never failed to give her the creeps. As the ninja girl cleared a patch of counter and hopped up to sit on it, Tifa smiled. "I actually thought the same thing you did, a long time ago..."

_. o ._

**(finis)**

_. o ._

**Sabe's Scribbles: …**completed as a microfic prompt from _jesta ariadne_ on LJ – Tifa, Jessie, and makeup – this one was fun to write! That said, while Yuffie and I share opinions on eyelash curlers, she and the others remain Square's creation.


	19. Saints Into The Sea : Hojo, Yuffie

**saints into the sea**

**. o .**

He couldn't help but catalogue her quirks - the tilt of her chin as she laughed triumphantly, the colour of her eyes, the exact angle of her wrist as she threw. It was what he did, and no holiday, no matter how pleasant, would change that. She overextended, he noted, frowning clinically; it would wear down the joint, if she kept it up (and she would; she was stubborn and she was _her_ daughter, and such traits were bone-deep - )

_- if she lived so long._

He allowed himself the aside, but never doubted that she would; true, he'd twisted specimens who burned brighter than the girl scampering blindly towards him, kicking sand up with her garish green sandals, and he'd left signatures under the skin of more than one of her companions. But as she darted past his screen of insipid beach bunnies, taunting the furious young blond on her trail, Daichi Hojo sighed, seeing another's ghost in the Kisaragi's fumbling grace. Enemy or not, ridiculous teenager or not, it simply would not do to think any less of one's grand-niece.

**. o .**

**  
**

_(did you really think your curiosity was unique?)_

**. o .**

**finis**

**. o .**

**disclaimer: **The characters and anything of value belong to Square. I do have garishly green sandals, though.

**sabe's scribbles: **...um? IT COULD WORK. ...if you, like me, ignore any complication from the Compilation. I hope you liked this (admittedly strange) moment; I tried to get them talking and it didn't quite go as planned. Few things do, with Hojo. Fewer, with Yuffie. Written to satisfy the drabble request of **ocean-flute** over on LJ.


	20. Muscle Memory : Tifa, Sephiroth

**muscle memory**

No good general forgets a face.

"You lived," he murmured, reconstructing her face as she dashed towards him, lowering her cheekbones and rounding her curves even as she raised her hands and snapped them out in fists.

"You won't," she replied, dodging the swing of his sword and stepping into his range, her gloves grazing his armor with more threat than promise.

Allowing the hit, he shifted, his sword now deflecting an oversize shuriken and sending it in a vicious arc back to its owner. "Is that so," he exhaled, his lip curling at the sound of the Wutaian girl's cry. As Tifa's eyes flew to her friend, his hand brushed the pale scar that bisected her stomach. "I remember this."

He could have killed her instead, she reasoned, and for that omission she should be grateful. _Still._ "You'll regret that," she breathed, furious.

"Good," he replied, and if he were the kind of man to smile, he would have at seeing her unshaking hands.

No good fighter forgets an affront.

._ o ._

(_let's dance)_

_. o . _

_disclaimer: _Tifa, Sephiroth, and the other characters of FF7 belong to SquareEnix and its affiliates, one of whom, unfortunately, I am not.

_sabe's scribbles: _...this was written as a kiriban request for **motchi**, who, I think, wanted some SephTi in the wake of working on "Grey." Hope you enjoyed it - comments are always welcomed.


	21. Pick Your Poison : Rufus, Tifa

**rating:** k (rufus? family friendly? just this once.)  
**characters**: rufus. tifa. rufus/tifa if you squint.  
**continuity**: AC-friendly. Minor spoilers.

**summary**: 'Hey,' she said, ' humility looks good on you.'

* * *

**pick your poison**

**. o .**

She was washing down the last table when the door creaked. "Bar's closed," Tifa shouted reflexively, and turned to see who had walked in. As she did, the hand holding her washcloth tightened into a fist. "_You're_ walking again."

"It seems I have your flowergirl to thank for it," the blond replied, stepping around her and to the bar.

Hands on hips, she followed. "Why-?"

"I," he said, settling on a stool and sweeping his coat to the side, "am just here to talk. Calm yourself." He spun around to face her, but the cushion tilted with an ominous creak and sent the young President to the ground. "Hmmph. It seems that even the _chairs_ around this place don't like me very much."

He looked dignified even sprawled on the floor. "Here," she laughed, shaking her head but extending her hand.

"_Thank you_," he said, carefully, and took her hand. Dusting invisible dirt off of his white greatcoat, he turned for the door.

"Hey," she called. He paused. "Humility looks good on you."

He made a sound that could have been laughter. "I'll make it a habit then, Miss Lockheart."

"You bothered to come all the way here. Can I fix your poison of choice?"

His smile was lopsided. "Perhaps. When I am less certain you mean that literally."

She tossed her hair as Rufus walked out, but didn't deny it.

He had a point.

**. o .**

**(finis)**

**. o .**

**_sabe's scribbles:_** written for the prompt RufTi - "down a peg" - from _darknitedestiny_ on LJ... Heh. Rufus is a surprisingly fun character to write for. As always, I like feedback like I like good cheese (which is quite a lot) and hope you enjoyed the moment!


	22. The Alchemist

**rating:** pg  
**characters**: barret, tifa, and cloud by proxy.  
**continuity**: pre-game; speculative. May be canonically unfriendly to the Complication.

**summary**: ...and in between the sector raids and the sirens, they lived.

* * *

**the alchemist**

**. o .**

Her employment was the perfect strategy in its simplicity. If she was the one pouring drinks and breaking up the occasional scuffle, it meant that she wasn't drinking. Tifa was a lightweight; although few knew it, the fact was that even Jessie could drink her under the table. Still, she loved bartending simply because it felt good to be creating something. A splash of colour brighter than the dingy neon down the road, a thankful smile or two.

Another little-known fact was that she had done well in the sciences back when there had been a school to go to and a father to ensure she studied.

So she liked that there was a precision and an alchemy to this new work. Once she learned the basics, she adapted her combat reflexes into a carefully reckless dance. On busy nights or for favorite customers, she would perform, spinning the bottles and snagging glasses from the wall with barely a glance before measuring and pouring with deft precision. Sometimes it was purely out of artistry; sometimes it was to distract from one of her (less learned, more accidental) gifts - from her _considerable assets_, the politer ones put it - with a gift she was willing to put on display. The cord of muscle in her arm as she prepared the drinks was often enough to dissuade all but the most persistent, and for those who were deliberately or unusually obtuse, there was Barret.

He had learned, if slowly, that she'd fight her own battles; he'd reminded her with equal if louder patience that she didn't always need to fight them alone. He'd also been the first to see through her facade, and laughed gruffly when he asked her if he was right about it one morning after the bar had closed. She had been trapped between a rack of dishes and the high bar top, and had admitted nothing. But she held her own silence as the weeks passed and as she caught him looking at her at odd moments - as her head bent over the morning newspaper, or playing a tug-of-war with little Marlene, or stirring up soup for Wedge's cold.

She knew the motive behind his looks. She knew she was a beautiful young woman, and he was a greedy man - not for blood or land, but for family. The crew under the protection of the Seventh Heaven and the members of AVALANCHE that used its basement were a family of sorts, but she couldn't help but see that this was not enough. Barret wanted what he had once - he wanted _his_ and _his for good_.

At least until she forgot a little-boy-blue and the lost sentinel he'd become, she couldn't be _anyone's_.

Knowing this, she spun bottles and trained her fists; he fixed his gun and raised his daughter, and in between the sector raids and the sirens, they became friends; they survived. They lived.

And so it was, until she went to the old train yards one morning and brought back the boy-blue, which changed everything once more.

But that, (as they say), is another story.

**. o .**

( finis. )

**. o .**

**sabe's scribbles:** written for _firefly99_, who scarred my eyes with her icons which were the prompt for this, but who also rocks no little bit. (she sold me on Yuffie/Cloud; I think she's working on converting me to Tifa/Barret now.) Thoughts?


End file.
